On January 14th, I started my Chinese New Year vacation by flying to Guiyang in Guizhou province. This is the poorest province in China and most people were genuinely curious as to why I was going there. I was set to meet my friends from Chengdu, plus some of their Seattle buddies who came to China to travel (cough cough, what good friends).
This entire thing started off somewhat horribly because my plan was to train down south. I love trains and it's much cheaper. Unfortunately, buying train tickets in China is actually the single largest cause of aneurysms in the world. I had four in the weeks prior to my departure. One, because I could not figure out the earliest date I could purchase them, though I had asked around constantly. Two, because some friends went to the station and were told ten days before departure and when I went on January 4th to buy tickets the sign said "nine days before." Three, because I went the next day and tickets weren't on sale until 3:20pm (wtf?) and THEN the lady informed me I could purchase them online. Four, because at this point, every clever, well-connected or desperate Chinese person had purchased their tickets and they were all sold out. So despite my pretty dedicated commitment to finding out ticket info, I failed. That's the thing with China, you can try really, really, really hard and it's just not going to happen. So I got a plane ticket.
My flight was later at night because it was added as a holiday special. This also guaranteed that it wouldn't be on time, apparently. I was the only foreigner in the waiting area, so they did not make any announcements in English. I got that the plane was late, but no later takeoff time was delivered, as it was a secret. Suddenly, everyone in the waiting area went up to the desk at the gate, shuffling, yelling and waving their tickets around. Oh god, I thought, it's canceled, what do I do? So I went up there, asked if anyone spoke English (no one did) and asked if the plane was still going. They looked at me as though I was a complete moron (I am) and pointed outside, saying the plane had already arrived. This was a good hour after the original departure time, so it wasn't entirely obvious what was occurring, especially because it was dark outside. I thought their condescension was a bit unwarranted but c'est la vie in China.
My end conclusion was that they had oversold the flight and were offering cash to those that gave up their seats. But I had a plane to catch.
Nothing in Guizhou is on the internet, so booking a hostel was next to impossible. I have the newest Lonely Planet book, so I called all of the hotels they recommended in Guiyang. None of the numbers were correct. I then employed my Chinese skills on a few websites to try and find a better number. I spent the next few days in broken Chinglish conversations with a proprietor at the supposed Mayflower Hostel. I booked rooms for seven of us and received the address in a text message. Then, the day I left for Guiyang, I received a call from Luke asking if the hostel was supposed to be in an apartment building. I confidently answered yes, as Lonely Planet had informed me that it was on the 34th story. He sighed and said it was sort of a mess, but they'd sort it out. I felt a bit guilty as the booker, but what else can you do? They bargained the rooms down and texted me to say that they'd be up to let me in later that night.
When my plane got in at the obscene hour of one am (two hours late), I nervously went outside to find a taxi. When you are woman, foreign and alone, in the middle of the night, it is not fun to deal with taxis. Luckily, I speak Chinese well enough to avoid huge scams, but otherwise it is a total crap shoot. A man found me and we argued for a while but I caved when faced with the odds of getting anywhere at one am. He put my bag in the trunk and bid me sit. He then promptly took off back to the arrival area. When I got out of the cab and waved at him, he said to wait a minute. Five minutes later, he returned with a woman who got in the cab too. They were yelling about the fare, with me a dumb bystander to their conversation. When the driver started off, they continued shouting amicably at one another. I realized I was sharing a cab and paying a lot more for my share. That was irritating but nothing could be done anymore. Then the girl behind me noticed me and began asking me questions, initially mistaking me for someone from Xinjiang Province and gradually working her way to the really important question of whether or not I was married. When I exclaimed that I was only 22, she and the cab driver agreed that it was certainly a good time to get married. This continued until I was dropped off in front of a hotel on a main street, with no idea where I was going.
I called the hostel and the cell of the proprietor, but on the third try, I was told that I needed to call my friends to get me. Groggy from sleep, Luke answered that he'd be there in ten minutes. I felt guilty and confused, not to mention awkward, as I was standing randomly on the street at two in the morning. One Chinese man offered to get me a taxi and then, seeing that I was waiting, said he'd look after me. Then he walked off into the night. So I twiddled my thumbs for a bit and tried to look confident.
Luke appeared soon on the sidewalk and relieved me of my nervous energy. We walked down a mysterious alley and all the way around an enormous apartment building which housed our "hostel."
"It's not really a hostel," Luke explained, "It's just some rooms that this family rents out. The bathroom is okay though." Duly noted.
The horses marked our entry. Classy.
In the lobby, the security guard stopped us and questioned our intentions, though he'd literally seen Luke leave fifteen minutes earlier. Luke explained that there was a hotel upstairs, which absolutely baffled the guard but he let us in. I assume he thought I was a Russian prostitute, as my red hair can lead to mistaken identity.
On the 34th floor, we found our unmarked room, which actually contained four rooms inside a flat. I thanked Luke for waking up and retrieving me and he went to pass out. I located the restroom and noted that it was definitely not okay, but I could make it work. Then I crawled into the warmest bed I'd slept in for months (my apartment is freezing) and slept.
So that's how I got south, but I have much more to go on about...stay tuned!
ellen
p.s. The hostel was not the Mayflower Hostel, but just some random people from the internet.
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